


Kukolka

by treewishes



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling, Russian Fairy Tales
Genre: M/M, The Princess Bride References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-18
Updated: 2008-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:54:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treewishes/pseuds/treewishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter receives a gift from his dying mother that is much more than it seems. (Pretty lame summary, you say? Where's the romance, where's the adventure, you ask? Well, I'll tell you, it's all here. Flying Cauldrons. Magic Wands. Bad men. Good men. Love. Hate. Revenge. Ugliest witches. Bravest wizards. Ogres. Giants. Curses. Death. Lies. Truths. Passion. Miracles! Come on now, try to keep up....)</p><p>Alternate Universe: In 1913, Albus Dumbledore kills Gellert Grindelwald during a heated argument, and his sister Ariana lives. This changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kukolka

**Author's Note:**

> A reader may recognize in this ~~hodge-podge~~ pastiche a number of sources in addition to the Harry Potter books 1 through 7. Additional "borrowed-froms" include _The Princess Bride: A Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure (The 'Good Parts' Version)_ by William Goldman, _The Diamond Age or, A Young Lady's Illustrated Primer_ by Neal Stephenson, _Nine Princes in Amber_ by Roger Zelazny, _Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back_ by George Lucas, and two traditional Russian tales: [Vasilisa the Beautiful](http://www.oldrussia.net/vas.html) and [The Death of Koshchei the Deathless](http://www.oldrussia.net/koshchey.html). Ideally, one should read all of these to appreciate what has been borrowed from previous works in this 'literary collage'. Those familiar with slash fandom may find additional irreverent references herein as well. The author has deliberately co-opted plot elements, inserted snippets of dialogue, and evoked scenes from movies to create a cultural blend. Whether all together this is more or less than a sum of its parts remains a question for the reader.

_**Kukolka**, by H. Granger, was my favorite book of all when I was a kid, though I had never read it. You see, my Gran used to read it to me._

When she passed away, all of us named in her will got to go through her house and pick out just one thing as a keepsake. I was so happy to find that Kukolka was still there when it finally got to my turn. I'd actually looked for it in print a few years ago, poking through used book stores and emailing online sellers, but couldn't find a copy. No other books by H. Granger, either, which surprised me because this was such a great story.

The name of the book makes it sound mysterious, but it's not; a kukolka is a little Russian doll, and my Gran had one that was very valuable and very old. She used to laugh and tell me that she was even older than the doll, which I might have believed because she was my great-grandmother. Or great-great, I was never sure. When I finally read the book myself, I was surprised to find it reads like a history. It's clearly fiction— it's about a talking doll, of course it's fiction— but it's full of politics and citations and appendixes that I never heard when she read it to me. My Gran, you see, made it into a great adventure story, with wizards and giants, and magic wands and flying cauldrons. You know, just the good parts.

Anyway, here's the "good parts" version. H. Granger wrote it. And my Gran read it to me. And now I give it to you.

* * *

"Hi, sweetie."

"Hi, mum." Harry leaned up onto the bed to give her a kiss on the cheek. The golden afternoon sun made his mother look very pretty, and he pretended not to notice that she could barely lift her head from the pillow.

"Tell me about school today." She patted the bed next to her.

He scrambled up and pulled his knees up to his chin. He watched her face as he told her about his spelling test and his history lessons.

When he finished, she smiled and patted his leg. "I have something for you." Her voice was so weak he wanted to cry, but he stayed strong like his Dad said he needed to be. She reached over and pressed something into his hand. It was a little wooden doll, only as big as his finger.

He looked up at her, surprised. "Thanks, mum."

She laughed, then. "It's not for playing with, my silly boy. It's called a kukolka, and I've charmed it just for you."

"How does it work?" he asked, turning the little doll over in his hand. "Will I need a wand?"

"No, no," she said, stopping for a moment to take a breath. "It's not that kind of magic. When you need help, go somewhere quiet and give it something to eat and it will tell you what to do."

"What's his name?" Harry held the little doll carefully. It had a tiny, painted face.

His mother touched the black hair painted on the little doll's head. "What if I said his name was Harry?"

"Is it?" He looked up at her, and then down at the doll. "He doesn't have glasses, Mum," Harry protested.

She smiled. "No, he doesn't, does he? All the same, I want you to always carry him with you wherever you go. You can tell him about your spelling tests."

Harry nodded, realizing that she meant this doll to help him because she would be too ill. Blinking back his tears, he put the little wooden doll in his pocket and reached up to hug his mother.

"You are such a good boy," his mum whispered. "A few years from now, you'll do well at Hogwarts, and make me proud." He nodded, his face pressed to her neck, holding her as hard as he dared.

"I love you, don't forget that now." Her voice was so faint he could barely hear it.

"I won't forget, ever," he promised. She kissed him, and he could feel her love for him like the sun on a midsummer day.

But that was the last time Harry saw his mother. Everything afterward was a nightmare, so many people he had to say hello to, so many hours he had to be quiet and polite, when all he wanted to do was go to his room and cry. He missed his mum terribly, especially at night when he lay down to sleep. When he woke up and remembered she was gone, he would feel worse than ever.

He was so sad that he didn't think of the little wooden doll for a long time afterwards. Then, one evening as he finished his homework, he put his hand into his jacket pocket and suddenly felt the little doll and remembered his mother's words.

He took some food to his room, but he wasn't sure what to do with it. The doll was a miniature person, so he put a biscuit crumb near its mouth. To his surprise, he felt the doll become alive in his hand. It began to eat and its eyes began to shine as if they were human.

Then the doll spoke to him! The little voice was like a proper person's, though not like anyone Harry had ever met. "Tell me what troubles you," it said. Harry sat down on his bed so hard he bounced. He held the little doll in his hand, hardly able to believe his eyes. He had had him in his pocket for weeks and weeks!

"You're real!" he exclaimed.

"Of course, I'm real," the doll said. "But not as real as you are."

Harry remembered his mother's words, that he should ask for advice, but suddenly he was so unhappy that he buried his head in his pillow and let the tears come.

"I miss her so much," he sobbed, and poured out his sadness to the little doll.

After some time he heard the little doll talking and picked his head up to listen. "Harry," the little doll repeated, "Your mother's death was a tragedy, and your tears for her will help her soul find its rest. But you must put away your grief, just for now."

Harry sat up and wiped his eyes. This was not what his father had told him, so many times, that he should be strong and should not cry.

"Oh." He felt a little silly talking to a doll, but them he remembered that his mum had made it for him. Perhaps, he thought, the doll might know better than his father about how her soul was resting.

The doll continued to talk, his little eyes shining. "Harry, I want you to try to sleep now. Try to empty your mind, make it blank and calm. The morning is always brighter than the evening, and tomorrow you will feel much better." Harry felt his sadness slipping away from him. He put the doll next to him on his pillow, and fell asleep.

The next morning, Harry was surprised to realise he did feel better. After that, any time he felt sad Harry would turn to his mother's kukolka for comfort. He started to feel as though he was a friend, and began to call the little doll Kuki. With Kuki's help, Harry's grief became somewhat easier to bear, although he still missed his mother very much.

Even though Harry's dad never cried, Harry's knew he was sad and missed Mum, too. Their lives were more complicated now because his dad was an Auror and often had to be away from home. While he was gone, Harry had stayed with old Mrs Bagshot once, and his Uncle Remus had come to stay with him another time. One evening, Harry heard his Uncle Remus in the fireplace telling his Dad he couldn't come until the following week.

When his dad turned away from the fire, Harry knelt next to him. "I could stay by myself, Dad." He could do it, he was sure. "School's out next week. And I'm almost nine, you know."

But his dad shook his head. "Harry," he began, then he stopped. "That's just the thing. You're not even nine years old. You need more stability than this. And I," he stopped again, "I need to go away too often for my work. I could beg off this time, but—" He put his arm around Harry's shoulder and walked him over to the sofa. "I was thinking about taking you to visit your Aunt Petunia."

Harry was shocked. "You can't mean Aunt Tooney! She hates us, and mum knew it, too. I heard you call her a—"

"Harry, no," his dad interrupted him before he could finish.

Harry crossed him arms. "And Dudley is just as bad." His mum had taken Harry dutifully once a year to visit her sister and nephew, and it had been horrible every time.

His father laughed. "Don't be silly, Harry! I didn't know Too— I mean, your Aunt Petunia very well before. And you don't know her properly— she's very nice when you get to know her. She told me she'll treat you as she does her own son. And she keeps a clean house, and she's a good cook." Harry looked around at the cluttered mess in their sitting room, and thought about the lonely container of dried out take-away in the fridge. It would be difficult to be worse in the housekeeping department.

But Harry could only remember his Aunt with her lips pursed up as if she was sucking on something extremely bitter and her pointed nose all wrinkled up. So he said nothing more.

A few days later, Harry and his father went to visit Tooney and her family for tea. His aunt gushed all over Harry with a look of heartrending sympathy on her face.

Sighing and dabbing at her eyes, she proclaimed, too loudly, "I miss Lily dreadfully, too, Harry darling, how terrible for you. You must be so lonely without her. Don't worry my dear, soon you will have us to take care of you." Harry thought it was disgusting. He was even more disgusted when he realised his father was taken in by this falseness.

That night, as he was drifting off to sleep, he again saw her pursed up lips and wrinkled up nose behind his eyelids. He could still hear her voice echoing in his head, "...soon you will have us to take care of you!"

"No!" Harry heard himself shouting and awoke with a start, his heart beating fast.

"What a terrible dream," he thought, but he couldn't go back to sleep. Then he thought of Kuki and gave him a few crumbs.

"Kuki, you'll never believe what my dad is thinking."

Harry felt Kuki come alive and twist a little in his hand. "I can't know unless you tell me," he said, and so Harry did.

The doll listened, just like a real friend. "Harry, it's all right," Kuki said, "You shouldn't worry. Your aunt loved your mother, and that will make all the difference in the end. Everything will work itself out. Now go to sleep and forget your troubles." Harry at last fell asleep.

The next day, Harry tried his best to dissuade his father, but he had made up his mind. When he dropped Harry off at the house on Privet Drive, the Dursleys were nice to him. But as soon as his father left on his trip, they immediately turned cold. His aunt allowed him only a bed and a small desk in a room otherwise filled with Dudley's things.

The only good thing on Privet Drive was the neighbours, who were all very nice to Harry. He liked to help Mrs Becket with her groceries, and always said hello to Mr Dubois. But nobody liked Dudley Dursley, who was a bully and never had a kind word for anyone. Because of this, the Dursleys began to hate Harry and did everything they could to make his life a misery. His uncle sent him out to work in the garden all day on the weekends. To make things worse, his aunt barely gave him enough to eat and kept him working hard on household chores every evening after school.

Despite this, Harry grew strong and healthy while his cousin became more pale, fat, and hateful by the day. Dudley's face was full of ugly red spots, while Harry's skin stayed clear and fair. Petunia was forever taking Dudley for skin treatments, but they didn't seem to help.

How did Harry manage it? Well, Kuki helped him.

On the hottest day of July, when he had only been at Privet Drive for a week, Uncle Vernon sent Harry out to trim the hedges. Harry only said, "Yes, Uncle Vernon," and trudged out to the garden shed to get the shears.

When he reached the cool shade inside the shed, he couldn't help but sit down on a bucket of paint to take a short rest. He reached in his pocket for a packet of Opal Fruits that Mrs Becket had given him and found Kuki. He gave a bit of the candy to Kuki to have a friend to share his troubles.

When he told Kuki all that he had to do, the little doll seemed to become even livelier than usual. "Sit here for a few moments," he said, and when Harry turned around, there was a pitcher of chilled water and a short stack of books on the potting table.

"Where did this come from?" he asked, looking at the doll.

"Harry, I'm here to help you. Your mother told you I would be here when you needed me, did she not?" When Harry nodded, Kuki continued, "That means I will do the trimming."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "So I don't have to— "

"No, absolutely not. That's not the kind of work an 8-year-old—"

"I'm almost nine!"

The doll made a tiny snort. "For a nine-year-old, pardon me! And what a nine-year-old boy should be doing this summer is reading and preparing for the upcoming school year. This school is much larger than your school in Godric's Hollow and may be paced differently. Those books are the texts your cousin used last year. Had he opened a book, that is to say. I suggest you see how they compare."

Harry looked at the books, and the cool water in the pitcher, and thought about the miles of miles of hedge that needed trimming. He knew his uncle probably wouldn't bother to look out the window. Even if he did, he would think Harry was on the other side of the house.

"Okay, Kuki." He sat down to read his books.

And that set the pattern for the whole summer. Whenever the Dursleys were watching, Harry would appear to be working. The rest of the time, Kuki brought him all sorts of different books; schoolbooks and story books, picture books and puzzle books. Better than that, Kuki talked with him about what was in the books. He would explain the things that Harry didn't understand, and when Harry found a word he didn't know, he could spell it and Kuki would teach him what it meant and how to say it. Harry kept some of the books under the floorboards in his room, but whenever he wanted to read one, he needed only to ask Kuki and he would find it behind a tree or in the pantry.

Kuki also told him how to prepare a cream from a special herb that would keep his skin from becoming sunburnt. And Kuki woke him with a bowl of muesli every morning before his Aunt knocked on his door, so he wasn't hungry when he ate the meagre fare he was served at the family table. Kuki also made sure he had a large glass of milk and pudding every evening-– something he rarely got from his Aunt.

That is how the years passed for Harry, and they would have been unbearable had it not been for Kuki.

On Harry's eleventh birthday, two things happened that made him very happy. First, his father visited for several days. Because he was there, the Dursleys made a fuss. His aunt made a delicious pudding with candles and flowers made of sugar, and Dudley wrapped up one of his old games as a gift.

The second thing that happened was that Harry received his letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His father had been very, very proud. What made this extra special was that in only one more month Harry would be able to leave the Dursleys' house for the entire school year! Late that evening, Harry shared a bit of his birthday cake with Kuki and they had a private celebration. Kuki assured him that his mother would be very proud of him as well, and Harry went to sleep with happy dreams.

His father returned to help Harry buy his schools supplies and to see him off on the Hogwarts Express. Harry waved out the train window until he couldn't see the platform any longer, and then sat down and began to get to know the other students in his compartment.

Attending Hogwarts was both exciting and challenging, and for any number of reasons, Harry found he was very glad to have Kuki with him. Kuki helped him understand many things that he had never learned living in a Muggle home with the Dursleys the past few years. Harry quickly found a corner of the Common Room that he could use to talk with Kuki every evening after the students had gone up to bed. He would tell Kuki all about his day, and Kuki was always interested in hearing about what had happened.

The months sped by, and soon it was time to leave school for the summer. Although his father picked him up at Kings Cross, they only spent one week together in Godric's Hollow before his dad had to go away for a long time on Ministry business.

"Already?" Harry begged. "Can't I stay here for just a little while?"

"Harry, I know you're growing up fast, but I think it's best if you go back to Little Whinging, and your mother's family."

"But, Dad, you don't know what they're like. They hate me."

"That's just plain silly, Harry. I know they're fond of you. Petunia says so every time I see her. But you are an energetic little boy, and you don't make it easy for her either. Now, please try to be nice to your aunt and uncle and life will become easier for all of us."

"Nothing I could do would please them, Dad."

"Son, try your best for my sake. Please."

"Fine," Harry sighed. "I will try. But please come back as soon as you can."

His dad kissed Harry on top of his head, gave him his love, and took him to the Dursleys.

It was immediately clear to Harry that the Dursleys weren't happy about his return for the summer. As Harry had feared, as soon as his father was gone, they began to make life unbearable for him. They shouted and screamed abuse at Harry for no reason, bullied him unmercifully, and made him do all the work around the house.

One day, when Harry asked if he had heard from his father, Uncle Vernon sneered, "Your beloved father obviously doesn't care about you anymore. He hasn't sent us any money in weeks! It looks as if he's not coming back. Because of you," he sneered, "we can't afford to live here any longer: we must move to his house to wait for him!"

"It's not true!' Harry shouted at him. "My father would never have forgotten me. Something must have gone wrong!" But he didn't know how to contact any of his father's friends or the Ministry.

They packed up everything into their car and a travel trailer behind, and left the house before the neighbourhood was awake. His aunt left a note on the door of Mrs Patel, the neighbour across the street who was the biggest gossip, to say they were going to Majorca on holidays.

Harry had to sit on the boxes in the back seat, while Dudley and Petunia sat next to Uncle Vernon. But he hardly noticed how uncomfortable it was; he was so preoccupied with thoughts of his father and what could have happened to him.

All along the way, his uncle and cousin mocked him, saying over and over that his father had forgotten him. He was a wreck by the time they reached his father's house, and he was heartbroken to see the house was dark. Harry tumbled out of the car, bruised and battered from the uncomfortable ride. He headed for the door, eager to get to his room and away from his horrible relatives, when his uncle laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Not so fast, boy. You're not going anywhere until you unpack the car and the trailer, take everything inside, and clean the house."

"And what will you be doing?" Harry was afraid he knew the answer.

"We're going to bed." Without a look back, they each took a small overnight bag and went upstairs. Harry sat on the front steps and took Kuki out of his pocket. He gave him a little food, all the time biting back tears.

"Kuki, please help me. I'm afraid something must have happened to my father."

Kuki's eyes began to shine as he came to life. "Harry, your father is alive and well and loves you as he always has. You should know by now not to trust your uncle. And please remember, no harm can come to you while I am here. Go to sleep now, and clear your mind. The morning is always brighter than the evening."

Harry was comforted by Kuki's words. He crept into the house, and was suddenly so tired that he couldn't go any further. He pulled a knitted throw from the sofa and fell into a deep sleep.

When he awoke the next morning all the unpacking had been done and the house was tidy. Harry was opening the windows to air out the musty rooms when his aunt and cousin stumbled down the stairs.

They were amazed to see how fresh Harry looked after he had been apparently working all night. And although Dudley teased him and mocked him about his father, Harry didn't let it bother him as it had the day before.

"Why does he look so happy?" Dudley grumbled, fiddling with his GameBoy.

"Don't worry," replied his father, "He won't be around for much longer."

Harry pretended not to hear this, but it worried him greatly. They sent Harry into the forest every day on some errand or other, hoping that some harm might befall him. None of the Dursleys dared to venture near the trees, for it was rumoured that dozens of bodies were buried in the thick woods. However, thanks to Kuki's protection, he always came home safe and sound.

The weeks passed; Harry was still alive and well. He was sent out every day to work in the overgrown garden, and he slowly began to uncover the planting beds that his mother had laid out. His family was surprised that he never seemed tired afterwards, but Harry never responded to their comments.

Soon it was Harry's birthday even though the Dursleys didn't acknowledge it. When he crept downstairs at midnight to get some cake to share with Kuki, he heard his aunt and uncle talking.

"We don't want to spend the entire summer out here, Vernon," Petunia nagged him. "We've got to get rid of him soon."

"Don't worry, my dear," he replied. "I have thought of a plan."

The next morning, Harry was outside weeding the flower beds when his uncle called him into the house.

"Boy, come here. I need to speak with you."

Harry went inside, leery of anything his uncle and aunt had to say. They had been here for weeks and there was no sign of his father. The only thing that kept him from worrying was Kuki's assurances that all would be well.

"We need to go back to the city, and your father is still missing," his aunt told him. "That means we need money to send you back to school."

Harry was shocked. He hadn't thought anything would keep him from school in September.

"Could I borrow money from you, Uncle Vernon?" he asked timidly.

Uncle Vernon's face became even redder. "Of course not," he blustered. "We don't have money lying about to waste on you!"

"We were thinking," his Aunt Petunia put in, "that you could go ask Baba Yaga for some money.

Everyone knew that a crazy old woman named Baba Yaga owned all of the land surrounding the little town of Godric's Hollow. She lived in the middle of the forest and for as long as he could remember, Harry had known that anyone who went near her hut disappeared.

"She liked your mother," his Aunt added.

She did? Harry wondered. But then he remembered that his mother had always told him not to be afraid of people who were different. He could imagine that his mum would befriend a person that everyone else feared.

"All right," Harry agreed, not seeing any other options. And so early the next morning, he packed up a small rucksack and set off into the forest.

Once he was out in the trees, Harry took Kuki from his pocket. "Kuki, what am I supposed to do? I've been told to go to Baba Yaga for money but I'm terrified that she'll kill me. What should I do?"

Kuki's eyes began to shine like two candle flames as he became alive. "Don't be afraid, Harry. Go to Baba Yaga as you were told. While I am with you no harm shall come to you."

Harry walked deeper and deeper into the dark forest. Trembling with fear, he tried to keep his spirits up by thinking of Kuki's words. He walked on in the darkness, becoming more and more certain that he was completely lost.

Just then, he heard the sound of someone humming a funny tune, and came upon an old man with a long white beard wearing faded and tattered robes. He was perched on a fallen tree sitting in a patch of bright morning sunshine, merry as could be.

"Ho, ho, who's this?" the man asked, peering at Harry over his glasses. Harry could see the man's toes peeking out of the holes in his shoes.

"Hello." Harry felt a little better that there was someone else out here in the forest. "I'm looking for Baba Yaga's house. Do you know where it is?"

"I might." The old man's eyes twinkled. "How much is it worth to you to find out?"

"I don't have any money," Harry stammered, thinking fast. "But I might have something you could use." He reached into his rucksack and found a pair of socks his mother had knitted for him. They were far too large for his feet, as she had made them for him to grow into after she was gone. He swallowed hard and put his grief aside, just as Kuki had taught him.

He offered them to the man. "Warm socks. They're new and made of very good quality wool."

The man frowned, but took the socks. He unrolled them and examined them carefully. Harry began to worry that it wouldn't be good enough payment.

Then the man looked up and smiled. "These are the best socks I've ever owned! Thank you, my boy, you don't know what a gift this is!"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "You're welcome." He quickly added, "Could you give me the directions, sir?"

"Oh, yes," the man said, distracted. He pulled out his wand and waved it over a patch of ground. Harry could see a path light up in a faint blue starting at his feet and going deep into the forest.

"There you go," he said, pointing. "Follow that. Takes you right to her."

This was much better than wandering aimlessly–- what luck it had been, finding the old man! "Thanks," Harry said over his shoulder, and set his boot on the path.

"Oh, don't thank me . . .," Harry heard the old man say faintly as he took step after step, forward into the deepest, darkest part of the forest.

Harry looked up a few minutes later, confused. He was walking along the blue path and had noticed a small shower of sparks rising from his boot with each step. The path now seemed the only illumination in the dark forest. His first instinct was to turn and run back the way he'd come, but he quelled the feeling. Harry had only one year of magical schooling, but he knew plainly that this was Dark magic. He regretted starting on it at all, but he knew instinctively that to leave the path before he'd reached the end— would be the end of him.

Distracted, Harry had not raised his eyes from the path before him to see how far he had come, nor how far he had yet to go. A noise up ahead startled him, and he looked up to see a patch of sunlight through the trees that flooded the path in front of him.

He stepped into the sunlight and saw a man was chopping wood. Harry leaned back as his huge axe rose and fell with a clunk, and a piece of a tree trunk fell away beneath it. The man looked up and saw Harry, and smiled.

"Blimey, look a' here!" The man exclaimed, lowering his axe and walking over to Harry. He was a giant man, his face wreathed with a thick red beard.

"Hello," Harry said, swallowing. He looked down at the path and noticed that in the bright mid-afternoon sun, it was no longer blue. While Harry remained certain he couldn't turn back the way he'd come, he felt he could stop and rest here for just a moment.

"Yer a fine-lookin' young man. What brings yer so far inter the forest?"

"I'm on my way to visit Baba Yaga. Do you know if this is the way?"

"I can' say for sure. But there's a way to find out."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two pieces of wood. Harry recognized it as a broken wand. He was shocked to see the man hold the two pieces together in his huge hand and try to cast a spell.

"Wait." Harry reached into his rucksack and found a bit of Spellotape he kept there. "I can't fix it, but this will help." He quickly wrapped two pieces of tape around the wand to hold it together. The big man waved the wand across the path, making it glow a bit brighter.

"Thank yeh," the man said, "Yer too kind." He blinked and Harry was afraid the big man was going to cry.

"Well," Harry said, "I guess I need to be going. If this is the right way," he added, fishing for any more information he could get from the giant man.

"Oh, yeh," he replied, waving his hand in the direction Harry had been going. "Jes' keep on." Then he dropped his voice to a loud whisper. "But if anyone wanted ter know, I'd tell 'em not to be too curious about stuff what's inside the Missus' hut. That's all I'm sayin'."

"Thanks." Harry thought this advice made him even more nervous about the journey. "I really appreciate your help."

At that, the man looked very upset and shook his head from side to side. "Look, I shouldn't have said that. No more questions, don't ask any more questions!"

"Sorry!" Harry called out, as he began his trek on the blue path again.

He passed some large trees and rounded a curve, and the sparks appeared again, flying up around his feet. The forest closed around him, as he walked along the sparkling path. He walked on the path all day, not knowing where he was going. Kuki was silent, as Harry had no more food to give him.

Just as he thought he could no longer keep going, he saw a slight clearing through the trees. One, two. . . and to take the last step was like trying to walk through glue.

He felt bone-tired as he turned slowly and looked back to the forest. The path had disappeared, and Harry wondered briefly how he would find his way back. He could see what appeared to be a hut up ahead and knew he had to get through this ordeal first. He squinted his eyes; the hut seemed to be moving. At first he thought he was dreaming, for it was spinning around.

When he came closer he saw that the hut was on chicken's legs. A tall fence around the hut was made of bones, on the top of which were dozens of grinning skulls with blazing eye sockets. The gates in the fence had hands for hinges. The locks were jawbones set with sharp iron teeth. At the sight of the fence Harry's blood ran cold and he stood rooted to the spot in terror.

At that moment, a third man came out of the forest. He had a short black beard.

"Hello, there," he said to Harry. "Who comes to torment Baba Yaga this fine afternoon?"

"Er, I suppose I do. I don't mean to torment anyone, however." He smiled just a bit. The man didn't smile back. "My name is Harry Potter."

The man looked at him closely, "Potter, you say?" he said, sharply. "I believe I knew your father."

"You did?" Harry supposed a lot of people knew his dad, he was an important person in the Ministry, but he couldn't imagine his father knowing this man.

"I knew him at school, yes. But I haven't seen him in many years, before you were born. We were friends at Hogwarts."

Harry thought fast. He wanted to ask the man how to get in to see Baba Yaga, but the man didn't seem nearly as helpful as the other two men he'd met today.

"Would you like to talk to him?" Harry asked him, and then added quickly, "because I have a mirror you can use for that."

He reached into his bag and found the magic mirror his dad had given him at the start of the school year. He had never used it, not wanting to be a bother and call his dad while he was on a dangerous mission. He hoped his dad would understand if someone else were to use it, and this man sounded like an old friend.

"Thanks, yes, I would," the man said, taking it.

"Er," Harry said, and the man looked up from the mirror. "Should I just go up and knock on the gate?" He nodded toward the hut.

The man laughed. He looked much kinder now, and Harry was glad he'd given him the gift of the mirror.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't do that. Never touch the gate or any part of the fence, if you know what's good for you."

"Okay, thanks," Harry said. "Well, thanks then." The man didn't reply as he walked away peering into the mirror.

Harry walked cautiously toward the fence. As he neared the gate, the glaring eye sockets of the skulls lit up and threw out their baleful light on the clearing until it gradually became as bright as day. Harry shuddered at the sight and scurried back to the edge of the trees.

The forest became full of a terrible din; the trees began to groan, the branches creaked as if a violent storm were coming, and a witch who could only be Baba Yaga came crashing through the undergrowth in a great iron cauldron.

With a wand in her right hand she urged the cauldron along, while her left hand was busy sweeping away the trail behind her with a broomstick. Harry couldn't tell if it was a charmed cauldron, or if she was using the broom to fly. He thought perhaps it was both.

Then a group of ghosts came in her wake, sending up a terrible howling and screeching until she approached the gates, where they left her and flew silently back into the forest.

She rode right up to the gate, still in the cauldron. She chanted, "_Stupefy!_" in a blood-curdling voice.

And the hut immediately stopped spinning, turned to face her and stood still.

Then, to Harry's horror, she thrust her long nose into the air and sniffing all around her, shrieked:

"Well, well— I can smell a wizard bone or two! Who is it? Show yourself!"

Harry, his legs still not quite obeying him as they should, shuffled out into the clearing and stammered, "It's me— Harry Potter."

She glared down at him. "Have you come of your own free will or have you been sent?"

Harry cleared his suddenly dry throat. "My uncle sent me to ask a favour of you."

"Your uncle! And your aunt as well, I suspect. Well, I knew your mother. And now your uncle will know me, too!" cackled the old crone. "What is the favour you need?"

Harry's blood almost turned to water as he saw the fierce look on the old witch's face. "I— I need to borrow some money for my school fees," he stammered, "I'm sure my father can pay you back, but he's away just now."

She smiled, then, which was even more frightening than her glare. "Listen, boy! If I do this you must work to pay for it. If not, I will eat you for my supper!" Then she turned to the gates and shouted, "My unyielding locks, _Alohomora! Effringus_, my tall gates!"

Immediately the jaw-locks unlocked themselves and the gates swung wide open. Baba Yaga screamed at Harry to follow her and then rode into the yard whistling so loudly that Harry thought his eardrums would burst.

His hands clamped tightly over his ears, he ran behind Baba Yaga into the yard while the gates crashed shut on his heels and the jaw-locks snapped together again with a loud gnashing of iron teeth.

They went inside the hut and Baba Yaga threw herself down beside the fire. "Take everything out of the oven and put it on the table." Not even knowing where the oven was, Harry hesitated for a moment.

"Hurry up, I'm hungry!"

Harry ran and took the food from the oven. There was enough meat to feed the Dursleys with plenty left over. He looked in the pantry and found a huge bottle of mead, another of beer, and another of red wine. Not knowing which she wanted, he brought all three and the old witch drank them all, making a terrible gulping noise as the wine dripped down her hairy chin.

Then, belching loudly, she began to tear the meat apart with her long gnarled fingers. Harry shuddered as he watched the old woman in a feeding frenzy, crunching the large bones into splinters with her terrible iron-capped teeth.

She swallowed the lot, leaving nothing but a crust of bread, which she spat out onto her plate.

When she was finished eating, she rubbed a bony hand over her greasy chin, stretched herself out in front of the fire, and said, "Listen to me well now, and do as I tell you. Tomorrow, you must clean the house from top to bottom, weed the yard and cook for me. Then take this tangle of hairs from a unicorn's tail and separate each one. Do not miss even one strand or I will eat you for my supper."

Harry shuddered, having no doubt that she was capable of doing that very thing. Then, Baba Yaga turned her long nose towards the ceiling and began to snore loudly. Harry tiptoed over to the stove and stood listening for a moment to make sure she was really asleep. The heat near the fire was stifling. How can she lie so close? he wondered to himself.

Stepping outside into the cool air, he took Kuki from his pocket and gave him some of the leftover crumbs. "Oh," he said, as soon as the little doll came to life, "I'm trapped in the house of the old witch and if I don't get the work done, she will eat me. I can't go back along the blue path, I can't use my wand, and I don't know what to do!"

Kuki was as calm as ever, which soothed Harry's heart immediately. He said, "Don't be afraid, Harry. I will take care of you. Find a bed and go to sleep. The morning is always brighter than the evening."

Harry felt his fears slipping away and he went back inside. He found an old blanket and curled up on the floor as far away from Baba Yaga as he could. He cleared his mind and fell into a deep sleep.

When he woke early next morning, he heard someone humming a song. He looked out of the window and saw the man with the long white beard walk past the gates just as the sun glimmered into dawn. Baba Yaga was already outside; she let out an ear-splitting whistle and the great iron cauldron came rushing towards her and the broom flew into her hand. She climbed into her cauldron, and the man with the red beard appeared out of the forest at the very moment the sun rose into the sky.

Then Baba Yaga yelled: "My unyielding locks, _Alohomora! Effringus_, my tall gates!"

The jaws unlocked and the gates swung open with a crash and she rode away in the cauldron, driving it on with her wand and sweeping away the traces behind her with the broomstick.

The earth shook and the trees creaked and groaned as if they were about to be uprooted by a storm. Dry leaves whirled and spun all around her head and the ghosts shrieked and howled as they flew along after her.

Thinking that this was his chance to escape, Harry ran straight out behind the witch, but alas, the gates suddenly swung shut with a crash in front of him and he leaped back just in time to avoid being bitten by the gnashing teeth of the locks.

Above the noise he could hear Baba Yaga shrieking with laughter as she drove off through the forest.

Standing well back from the fence, Harry tried to get the locks to open by repeating Baba Yaga's spells:

'My solid jaws, Amorahalo! My tall gates open! Oh, what was it again? Effilingus! Effergalus!"

He tried as many different versions of the spell as he could think of, but the gates would not obey him. The jaws grinned horribly at him and it seemed that even the skulls on the fence with their empty eyes were mocking him. He gave up with a sigh and went back inside the hut.

He explored the hut and found it was much larger than it appeared on the outside. The pantry was filled with enough provisions to feed a whole village. Then he remembered with dismay all the work that he had been told to do and wondered where to begin.

When he went back to the kitchen, he could not believe his eyes, for everything was already cleaned and Kuki was straightening the last of the strands of hairs from the unicorn's tail. "Now you have only to cook the supper, have some yourself, and take a rest," Kuki told him.

Harry rested all day, still tired after his long walk the day before. Towards evening he cooked the old witch's supper and sat on the steps of the hut waiting. In the twilight he saw the man with the black beard walk past the gates. Darkness immediately came down over the forest and the eyes of the skulls began to glow in their sockets.

Then a terrible din arose again, and Baba Yaga came crashing out of the forest. When she stepped out of the huge iron cauldron, she asked, "Well, have you finished all the work I gave you to do, or can I eat you yet?"

Before he could answer, she went around checking everything. "You have done well," she leered, clearly disappointed that she could not eat Harry for her supper. Then, suddenly clapping her bony hands, she screeched, "_Accio!_ My faithful servants! Come!"

Immediately three pair of disembodied hands appeared, seized the unicorn hairs, and took them away.

Baba Yaga sat down to supper, and Harry put even more food and drink in front of her. She swallowed the meat, bones and all, without even chewing it this time, drank all the wine and beer, then stretched herself out on in front of the fire. "Tomorrow do the same as today, and as well as that, take the dragon's heartstrings from that shelf and clean them one by one. Someone spiteful has mixed mud in with them and I want them clean."

Then she turned her long nose to the ceiling and began to snore loudly. Harry went down the corridor, took Kuki from his pocket, gave him some food that was left and asked his advice. He and Kuki talked quietly about what had happened that day, and finally Kuki said firmly, "Don't worry, Harry. Go to sleep, and we'll talk more tomorrow." His fears once again slipped away and he found his blanket and went to sleep.

The next morning, Harry awoke up to an ear-splitting whistle outside. He ran to the door just in time to catch a glimpse of a pair of extremely bony legs clambering into the huge iron cauldron.

Once she had gone, Harry found that once again, Kuki had done everything except the cooking. There was not a trace of mud left in the dragon's heartstrings. Harry made a comfortable seat under the window and Kuki brought him books to read. Late in the afternoon, he cooked supper and shared some with Kuki.

When Baba Yaga arrived, she could not find any reason to complain about the work and was again disappointed that she could not eat Harry. She clapped her hands and screamed, "Accio! My trusty servants!" Instantly the three pair of hands appeared, seized the dragon's heartstrings, and took them away.

She sat down to supper and Harry brought all he had cooked and then stood waiting until Baba Yaga was finished. When she had devoured everything, she glared at him. "Well, what are you standing there for as if you were dumb? Have you nothing to say to me?"

Harry swallowed hard. This was the first opening he had to find out what he'd been wondering about. "I did not dare to speak. But with your permission, I would like to ask you some questions."

Baba Yaga grinned with an evil flash of her iron teeth. "Well, just remember that not every question leads to good. If you know too much, you'll become old too soon. So, now ask!"

Harry thought carefully about his questions. "I would like to ask you about the men I met along the path to your house. Who was the man with the white beard who I saw at the other end of the path?"

"That was my good for nothing brother, Albus Dumbledore." Baba Yaga began to grind her teeth, and Harry realized she was magically compelled to answer him. "He killed his best friend and will pay for that forever."

"And who was the giant man with the red beard?"

"Another miscreant, Rubeus Hagrid, expelled from school for killing a girl." She ground her teeth a little more this time.

"And the man with the black beard?"

"Sirius Black! That one only attempted to murder another boy. He was expelled from school for it," she said fiercely. "Those who have nowhere else to go, end up with me! Any other questions?" she shrieked suddenly, her eyes flashing wildly. "Speak!"

Harry thought of the three pairs of hands and was about to ask about them, but quickly stopped himself, remembering the words of the man with the red beard.

"You were about to ask?" Baba Yaga growled, grinding her teeth horribly now, so that sparks flew from her mouth.

But Harry said nothing.

"Ask me another question!" shrieked the old woman.

"Three questions are enough for me. I don't want to become old too soon! As you said yourself, not every question leads to good."

"It is just as well," snarled Baba Yaga menacingly, "that you only asked about something that you saw outside of the fence, for those who ask questions about what they see inside it do not live to tell the tale. And now I have a question for you. How is it that you have been able to finish all the work I gave you so quickly? Answer me!"

Harry, by now terrified at the way the old witch was looking at him, somehow managed to stutter out, "My mother's love helped me!"

Baba Yaga sprang at him foaming with rage. "Get out!" she howled at him, pushing him out of the hut. "I want no loved sons near me! Your mother's love hurts my very bones! Get out of here!"

Harry snatched up his rucksack and ran through the yard, and behind him heard the old witch shouting her spells at the locks and gates to open up.

When they did not open quickly enough, the witch aimed a kick at one of the gates. Some of the bones in the gate smashed and a terrible howling and screeching went up.

The locks opened with a snap, the gates swung wide, one of them looking a bit lopsided now. Harry ran out into the clearing, afraid the old witch would change her mind and pounce on him any minute.

Baba Yaga seized one of the golden skulls, shoved it and thrust it toward him saying, "Here's the gold you asked for. Take it to your relatives. That's what they sent you here for, and I hope they enjoy every bit of it!"

Harry remembered the words of the man with the black beard. He opened up his rucksack and scooped up the golden skull with the burning eyes, touching it only through the cloth. The burning eyes lit up the path, and Harry raced off with it into the forest. He kept going all night long, wanting to get as far away from the old witch as he could.

Then, to his dismay, the glowing eyes of the skull began to flicker and grow dim. A few moments later he heard the sound of someone behind him on the path, and a streak of white light appeared in the sky. He saw the old man with the white beard and Harry scurried behind a tree until he had passed, wondering who the old man had murdered.

Shortly afterwards the man with the red beard strode past, just as sunlight cast a pink light upon the topmost branches of the trees. Harry hid, remembering that he had killed a young girl.

He wandered on all day, wondering how to find the blue path. Kuki was silent, as Harry had no food to give him.

As he walked on, he was dismayed to notice the sky was growing dark. Just then he heard someone running behind him. He had no time to hide as the man with the black beard ran past him. "Hey," he ran after him, hoping the man had talked with his dad, but the man didn't stop and disappeared into the growing dusk.

Harry stood shivering. The night was cold, and he had no idea what direction he should go. He looked in his rucksack, but the skull's eyes were dark. He spilled it onto the ground, wanting nothing more to do with the old witch. He looked around and thought he might try to find a tree to hide inside until morning.

Suddenly, he heard a sound behind him, and turning, he saw a tall man holding a broom. Harry immediately thought to run away, but the man's wand light was the only bright thing in all the forest. The man looked worried, but his face cleared when he saw Harry.

"There you are!" he said, coming to kneel in front of Harry. The man put a hand on his face and asked, "Are you all right?"

Harry took a breath. "Yes, I think so," he said. Then he blurted out, "Who are you?" Harry couldn't believe he had said it, what if this man was yet another servant of Baba Yaga?

"No matter," the man said, and immediately bundled Harry up onto his broom. The wind was cold, but in no time at all, Harry saw his father's house in Godric's Hollow. The man set him down, and without another word, leapt back into the air on his broom.

Harry watched him go, puzzled, and then turned to see his father appear from the front door of this house. "Dad!" He ran to him, almost crying with relief.

His father gathered him up in his arms and hugged him very tightly. "Harry!" he cried, his voice breaking. He let Harry go just long enough to check to see if he was all right before hugging him tight again. "You're safe now," he murmured.

Finally, they went into the house, where the Dursleys stood waiting. Harry's heart was halfway into his throat and he didn't stray an inch from his father.

His aunt immediately ran over to hug him and began exclaiming over how cold he must be. Harry could barely stand to have her touch him.

"Good thing you're back, boy." His uncle pointed a finger in his face. "You see, Potter? He runs off like this all the time."

Harry's father turned to them. "I don't think so," he said. "You sent him into the Black Forest to ask for money for his school fees! I have friends in the forest, you see." He looked down at Harry and winked. "And you also seem to have ignored my letters telling you that I was delayed, and how to deliver him back to school."

The Dursleys, all three of them, began babbling apologies and excuses, and Harry held his breath. He knew the Dursleys would somehow be able to convince his dad they meant no harm, and he would have to spend even more time with them. He leaned in a little further into his father's side.

"Get out." His dad didn't shout, but his tone shut them right up. He put his arm around Harry's shoulder. "All of you. I'm sorry for every moment I didn't listen to my own son." His dad pulled out his wand and with a wave, all of the Dursleys' possessions walked out the door.

"Well!" His uncle's face was almost purple.

"We never wanted him in the first place," his aunt muttered huffily, heading for the door.

"Freak," Dudley added under his breath, and with that, they were gone. Harry didn't relax until he heard their car pull out and drive away.

His father said down heavily at the kitchen table. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to this. "It's okay, Dad," he said, finally. "I know you were trying your best. But what are we going to do? You'll still need to be away, and—"

"I've been thinking about that," his dad interrupted him. "I had a lot of time to think while you were missing, while your mother's sister was blaming you for it."

"I'm sorry to make you worry."

His dad shook his head. "No, Harry, none of this is your fault. I only— well, I wasn't sure what to do with myself when your mum left us, much less what to do with you. I thought— I guess I really wasn't thinking very well when I sent you to live with them, was I? But that's done with. I'm going to quit my job at the Ministry. There's plenty of work I can get on my own. I've got a knack for cursebreaking and tracking spells, you see. And if I do it right, I'll be able to take summers and holidays off."

"Really?" Harry couldn't believe his ears.

"It's a promise," his dad said, sealing the deal. "We'll go to the beach next summer, just like we used to, all right?"

Harry beamed. He couldn't wait until after supper so he could tell Kuki all that had happened. It had been quite a day, but Kuki had been right, it had all turned out for the best.

* * *

_I didn't even know this next bit existed until I began this 'good parts' version. All my grandmother used to say at this point was, "What with one thing and another, six years passed," and then she'd explain how the day came when Harry's father was killed, and how Harry left school, and by then she was into the terrific business dealing with the escape from the ogre's cave._

Would you believe that in the original version this was the longest part of the book?

But from a narrative point of view, in 83 pages nothing happens. Except this: "What with one thing and another, six years passed."

* * *

The last thing Harry remembered was being utterly, thoroughly cold. He had been in Edinburgh just that morning when the weather had been pleasantly brisk. Then he'd taken the train as far north as it went, and there he had begun to feel a bit chilled. When he had begun Apparating north, going as far along the snowy coast as he could see each time, that was when the wind coming off the water had overwhelmed his repeated warming charms.

Shivering, he'd kept on and felt a thrill— unfortunately not a warm one— when he spied the cave he'd sought. Without a good look round, a move he'd paid for in quick order, he clambered down the apparently deserted rocks along the icy shore. After that, well— he wasn't sure what had hit him.

He woke as he was dragged by his foot through snow. From what he could tell, it was an ogre doing the dragging. Or perhaps a troll; he hadn't been very clear about the details on his N.E.W.T. in Care of Magical Creatures. Did trolls live this far north? Hermione would know, he thought, and then everything went dark again.

He woke, head hanging down and feet up, a good four feet above the floor of what looked to be an ice cave. He was dizzy and disoriented and couldn't quite resolve what he was seeing upside down. The ogre, he was pretty sure now that it was an ogre, was eating, tearing flesh from bones. He was suddenly and hysterically reminded of the time he'd been trapped in Baba Yaga's hut years ago. He didn't think watching any consumption of food could be more disgusting than that, but he had been wrong.

The ogre was turned away from him, so Harry bent himself up to see how his feet were tied— only to find they weren't tied at all, but frozen into ice blocks in the ceiling of the cave. He felt for his wand, hoping— but it wasn't in his pocket. Bloody great hell, why couldn't he hold onto the thing? He hung there for a few moments, then closed his eyes and tried to sense where his wand was. Out on the shore? Or had the ogre used it for firewood? He ought to be able to find it, if he could just clear his mind, like Kuki had taught him.

After just moment, he found his wand in a snow bank behind his head. Blanking his mind, he whispered _Accio_ and breathed a sigh of relief as it flew into his hand.

He quickly vanished the ice around his feet, maybe a bit too quickly, he thought as he tumbled hard to the floor. The unfortunate reality that his feet were entirely numb made it difficult to stand. Naturally, the ogre chose that moment to notice his next meal had become mobile, dropping the bones he had been gnawing and coming Harry's way.

Harry aimed a stunning hex, then another, hitting the beast but not slowing it down at all. The ogre swiped at him with an arm that was feet longer than Harry had expected, knocking him down and bruising half his body, if not worse. "Must have giant's blood in you," he muttered, scrambling, finally casting a slashing hex that severed the creature's right arm. The ogre howled, and Harry seized the opportunity to slash again and then once more, leaving the monster in a bleeding, steaming heap of flesh on the floor of the cave.

Chest heaving, Harry muttered, "Bloody hell," before dropping to his knees in exhaustion and pain. He was pretty sure nothing was broken, and he cast what healing spells he could. And then there was nothing for it,; he couldn't stay here in this cave full of bones and the overwhelming stench of things he didn't even want to imagine.

It sounded as though the wind had died down a bit, too. So he wrapped his scarf around his head, cast his best warming charm, and set off.

He stepped out of the cave into a howling blizzard. Within minutes, he realized his mistake. He couldn't Apparate, as he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of his face. And within a few steps, he couldn't have found his way back to the cave if he wanted to, and on top of that, he was beginning to suspect that perhaps one of his ribs was broken. He clutched his side. Maybe two. He pushed forward, seeing a shape in the distance that might be some sort of shelter. Suddenly, his knee hit a rock, and he staggered and sprawled into the snow. He lay there, stunned, and then turned onto his side to spit out a mouthful of snow and blood and what could have been teeth. Bloody rock. He must have hit his chin on it.

What a cock up this trip had been! And all based on some cryptic notes his father had left about an old locket. The wind howled as Harry struggled onto his back. He took a few painful breaths, then jammed his hand into his pocket for his wand, and felt— Kuki. His old friend. He and Kuki had been through a lot over the years. He was very sorry he hadn't talked to Kuki for so long, but he'd never forgotten the help he had been. Harry felt bad that he didn't have any food for his friend, not even a biscuit crumb.

He had been so very, very cold, but now he had stopped shivering altogether. And he was so sleepy! He was sure in the morning things would look brighter. Kuki always said so.

Harry put his head on the soft, white pillow, and told Kuki goodnight before he went to sleep.

* * *

"Harry!"

He looked up as Neville rushed into the ward. Ron and Hermione trailed in behind him.

Neville leaned over the bed, inspecting Harry's bandages. "That's all you get for being out overnight during the worst storm in a century?"

Harry grinned. "Worst in a century? I guess I didn't get that memo before I left."

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione made herself comfortable in the visitor's chair.

"Heard it was pretty bad." Ron perched on the window ledge and Harry winced as Neville gingerly pushed his bandaged feet over to sit on the bed.

"I dunno how bad it was, really. I was following up on some notes my dad left, looking for some dark artefacts that he thought were hidden up north. It's a little fuzzy from that point, but I think there was an ogre." He shook his head. "Next thing I knew, I woke up here."

"Bloody odd, that. You've no idea?" Neville was

"It's more than odd." Hermione shook her head. "You were incredibly lucky! They said you were nearly dead when they found you."

"Not all the way dead, thank you very much! Still weak as a baby snitch, but definitely on the mend." He tried to sound cheerful, hiding as best he could just how helpless he felt. He could barely move a muscle.

"Harry, this is serious." Neville looked as though he would personally ensure that Harry stayed wrapped in cotton wool for the rest of his life. "You can't do this sort of thing alone."

Harry opened his mouth to say of course he could, but he looked over at Hermione, then Ron, and realized this wasn't just Neville-the-ex-boyfriend worrying unnecessarily. "All right, fine. Let's say that going out there alone was a bad idea. But what choice do I have?" he asked. "My dad is dead, and the Aurors called it a hunting accident. A hunting accident! Who uses a killing curse to hunt?"

"I know you're right, but—" Neville began.

"It's bloody dangerous out there, mate," Ron finished for him. "I wish I could go with you—"

"Me, too." Neville fidgeted. "But I can't get away."

"Look, I appreciate this." Harry repeated the speech he'd made when they were leaving school. "I know you want to help, but you didn't work with my dad like I did. You have your jobs to think about. And besides, Luna would kill me if anything happened to you," he told Ron.

Ron nodded. "And my sister would kill you if anything happened to Neville, I know, I know."

Neville rolled his eyes, and grinned. "I could probably take off some time this summer, but I didn't get Defence scores like you and Hermione did, either."

"I can help with background research," Hermione offered, "But I can't get away from classes, even in summer."

Harry nodded. "Look, you're all busy now; I can't ask you to sacrifice your careers or your families for this. I'm the only one who can do this. I just need to be more careful."

Neville looked thoughtful. "What about a partner? Surely there are other blokes in the same business. P'raps you could apprentice with someone?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "It's a tough business, so why would anyone want to be saddled with an inexperienced partner? And it's not as though there's a directory of Unspeakables at the Ministry."

"Because they're Unspeakable, I know." Neville's face was grim. "It's only that you were so close to your dad. People have been known to make stupid mistakes when someone close dies."

Harry had thought about that. It was true that his dad had been kind of out of it for a few years after his mum had died, but he'd come around after that horrible summer with the Dursleys in Godric's Hollow. "Maybe," he admitted, "But it's not like I can wait a few years and then do this. It's already been six months. There's a shadow group out there, I know it, and my dad was onto them."

The four friends looked at each other for a few moments, then Hermione asked, "What about Master Snape?"

Ron looked up. "Snape?"

"Yes, Harry, what about him?" Neville was nodding in agreement. "Remember when he substituted for Professor Quirrell last year? He seemed quite good."

"And scary," Ron put in.

"Definitely Unspeakable," Hermione confirmed. "And if he had time to come teach kids for a few months, maybe he's not so busy."

"I don't know." Harry remembered Snape as a cold and serious instructor. "He did know his stuff."

"Well, it can't hurt to send an owl," Neville said, ever optimistic.

And that was how he ended up agreeing to meet with Master Snape. He guessed the man wouldn't have an office, and perhaps not a proper house, either. His father hadn't kept the house in Godric's Hollow once he'd left the Ministry, and that was how Harry was travelling now— all his worldly possessions shrunk in his pocket. Summers with his dad had been exciting, traversing Britain and the Continent, tracking down mysteries. They'd even spent most of last summer in Egypt where there was a huge demand for cursebreaking.

But this? It was a boggiest of any bog he'd seen. Not that there weren't curses to break here, the whole place definitely had a very Dark feel. Would Snape be testing him here and now? He looked down again at the map and checked to see he was in the right place. It had to be. If he hadn't broken the curse on the seal correctly, he would have missed both Snape's response and the directions on how to get here.

After trudging through the mist and muck past the same gnarled tree three times, he went back and stood in the middle of the crossroads, searching Snape's letter for any further layers or hidden meaning. He resolved to wait for no more than five minutes— when Snape Apparated directly in front of him.

"Mr Potter."

"Master Snape!" Harry hated that his voice squeaked when he was startled.

"You wanted to see me?"

Harry blinked. "Er, yes, sir. I— I'm interested in finding a position as an apprentice. As I wrote to you."

"Yes." Snape crossed his arms and waited.

The knut finally dropped and Harry listed his credentials, even though he'd sent them to Snape in the post. "I have relevant experience in several areas. I graduated with eight N.E.W.T.s, and Outstandings in Defense, Charms, and Potions." Harry had worked hard for those, the subjects his mum and dad had always said were most important. "I also worked summers with my father. I know my way around security systems." He held up Snape's letter. "And cursebreaking. We also took on the odd salvage case. Declawing dark artefacts, and so on."

Snape stared him down, and Harry held his ground. If Snape wanted to test him, he was ready.

Finally, Snape spoke. "I had not considered taking on an apprentice. However, if you are willing to meet my conditions, I can be convinced." He ticked off the list with a flick of his fingers. "You will listen and learn what I have to teach; you will treat me and my privacy with respect; and you will keep yourself presentable and out of harm's way. Is that acceptable?"

Harry nodded. "Absolutely, sir."

Snape eyed him carefully. "I will provide your room and board and I will keep any income gained from your work. I will add, however, that much of what I do is for no client other than myself."

Harry nodded. "Not a problem. I can support myself." His father had done all right in the last few years and Harry had a modest bank balance. If he wasn't extravagant, he would be fine.

Finally, Snape relaxed his gaze. "Agreed. When will you be able to begin?"

"I can start right away." Harry couldn't believe this was going be this easy. Then he remembered. Of course it wasn't going to be easy. "However, I do have one condition of my own."

Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry soldiered on. "My father—" Harry paused to swallow. "My father was recently killed, and I believe there was foul play involved. I would— perhaps not right away, but I will be needing some time to find out what happened." And who was responsible, he added silently.

"I had read the news of your father's death, and I am sorry for your loss." Snape paused, a calculating look in his eye. "What makes you believe his death was not accidental?"

"I don't know for certain, sir. But he was tracking some very dark objects, and I know there were people trying to stop him. And I don't think the killing curse is ever an accident."

"The papers say it was a stunning spell followed by a fall."

Harry grimaced. "And you believe the Prophet? I saw him!" He caught himself before he got too angry; this was a job interview and he needed the man's help. "Look, I examined his body. It was the killing curse."

"I see." Snape cocked his head. "All right, in that case. I will be interested to learn what evidence you have. Shall we go? I have a house in London."

And that had been that. Snape's house in central London was comfortable and Harry had settled in easily. On a whim, he took Kuki out of his pocket and put him on his night table the first night in his new rooms. His tiny painted face and robes were the same as they'd ever been, even though he'd been in Harry's pocket every day for more than a decade. These days, Kuki was more of a good luck charm than the friend he'd once been.

And he'd needed the luck and was glad to have Kuki with him that first week. Snape had set him to breaking curses, all kinds of curses. A few days later, Snape started teaching him new skills, Occlumency and wordless magic, things he'd barely touched at Hogwarts and were only hinted at by his dad.

Harry was relieved to find that his cursebreaking and tracking spells were passable. Snape was a good teacher, better than Harry remembered from Hogwarts. He complimented Harry's instincts but pointed out many ways he could improve his technique.

Occlumency was more of a challenge. At first, Snape would routinely attack him, and Harry would just as routinely fold to his knees in a quivering wreck. After a few days, however, he felt he was making good progress. Once he remembered the way he'd put his emotions aside after his mother had died, he was able to clear his mind easily. That helped immeasurably.

Over the next few months, Harry found he really enjoyed his lessons. He posted regular notes to reassure his friends, telling them all about Master Snape, a little about the investigations they'd been doing, and just how unprepared he had been before when trying to go out on this own. Neville, who knew Harry better than Ron or Hermione did, read between the lines and immediately asked how he and Snape were getting on personally. Harry told him in no uncertain terms that they were Master and Apprentice, nothing more.

In reality, Harry was aware on a regular basis just how attractive Snape was. The man was tall and powerful, and Harry admired the graceful way he carried himself. Harry wondered more than once if there had been someone special in Snape's past, before he'd become an Unspeakable.

But aside from his personal ruminations, Harry was making good progress. All except one area: Wordless magic. He just wasn't catching on. Harry wasn't too worried about it, as he was perfectly competent using words. Unfortunately, Snape didn't agree.

One fall afternoon, they were out in what Harry called Snape's bog again, a place they often went to drill. Today, they had been at it for hours. Harry was soaked through and miserable.

He focused yet again on the huge boulder. It was heavy and awkward to _Leviosa_ using words, and every time he would lift one end up wordlessly, the other seemed to fall. He was sweating with exertion, his wand hand shaking. He'd finally got the whole thing free of the mud, when—

"Control, control!" Snape shouted in his ear and the rock dropped with a loud splash.

He had tried so hard to get this. His control was fine, if only he could speak! He finally broke down, slammed his wand against his thigh, and vented his frustration. "It's not as though we're doing a lot of dueling in this line of work. So if you'll just explain why I must—"

"No." Snape cut him off. "There is no why. I can teach you nothing more today." And with that, Snape turned his back and Disapparated.

Harry slumped to the ground, disappointment and exhaustion overtaking him. Just a small break, and he'd get back to it.

His practice went slightly better after that, but he still couldn't maintain any sort of control. He dropped his head onto his arms and stifled an exhausted sob.

"You are so certain it cannot be done," Snape spoke from behind him.

Harry sat up, pressing a hand to his aching head. "This is impossible! It might work for feathers, and maybe a wand, but—"

"Do you hear nothing I say?"

Harry shook his head. He heard everything Snape said. He dreamt about Snape's voice on a regular basis. "All right, let me try again," he sighed, struggling to his feet.

"No. You are done with trying. Do, or do not. There is no try."

Harry stifled a hysterical snort. "But that's all I have. I can only try. Maybe— maybe I don't have enough magic."

"Enough magic?" Snape rounded on him. "Are you not a wizard? Did you not graduate from the finest school of magic in Britain? There is an overabundance of magic, but you don't have the will to use it! Magic surrounds us and binds us. You must feel the magic around you; here, between you, me, the trees, the water, everywhere. Even between your mind and that rock."

Pointing his wand, Snape effortlessly lifted the boulder into the air, light as a feather. Harry stared.

"I don't, I don't believe it."

"That is why you fail."

"Why did we never learn this in school?"

"I can't answer that, Potter. Ask the school governors why you must unlearn what you have learned."

Harry steeled himself to try again. No— not try. Do. He pointed his wand, closed his eyes, and could almost see the magic around him. Master Snape was a strong force to his left, and the rock was a massive odd lump in front of him. He pulled the magic to himself and poured it into his wand.

He opened his eyes to see the rock floating in mid-air. He turned and grinned at Snape, who clapped his hands in mock applause. "Well done, Mr Potter."

He gently returned the boulder to its home. "Wow! I feel like I can do anything now."

Snape's look turned calculating. "Do you," he said. He conjured a rock-table and placed an innocent-looking book on it. "Now, tell me about this curse."

Harry approached the book carefully. He waved his wand over it, checking for traps, then flipped it over with the tip of his wand. Nothing hidden underneath. He picked it up gingerly, shaking it to see if anything fell out from the pages. A simple Finite had no effect. He then tried spell after spell, but was unable to transfigure or unravel any part of it. He even tried closing his eyes and feeling the magic around it.

To no avail. "There's something there, I just can't find the source of it. Definitely dark, though." Harry glanced up at Snape, who was surveying the scene in his normal, inscrutable way. "Can I get a hint?"

But instead of his typical snark, Snape shook his head. "I'm sorry, Potter. This one puzzles me as well. Sometimes trying is all we have."

Harry laughed, and even Snape smiled.

And that was how it went between them; a lot of learning, a little tension now and again, but always something new.

* * *

One evening as they were both reading in companionable silence, Snape turned a page and chuckled. Harry looked up.

"Just an old schoolmate from Hogwarts making a fool of himself in print." He waved a hand. "No matter."

"I hadn't realized you went to Hogwarts, Master Snape," he said, looking back at the text he was studying. Snape rarely shared anything about his personal life and Harry was intensely curious.

"Most learned wizards in Britain have done." Snape was again absorbed in his journal.

Harry turned a page. "Did you have Professor Slughorn for Potions?"

"What are you asking, Potter?" Snape had laid down his reading and pinned Harry with a sharp look.

"I was wondering something, sir. Did you know my parents?"

Snape hesitated only a second. "I did. We were in the same year."

Harry was thunderstruck. Snape was the same age as his parents? "You knew my dad?"

"Yes, of course. We've worked together. But I'm not surprised your father didn't mention me," he said. "We were... not friends."

Oh. Harry suddenly realised that Snape had never, in all the times they had discussed his father's death, mentioned that he knew him. But they had to have crossed paths, most Unspeakables did. "Then why are you helping me find out how he died?"

Snape looked indignant. "The key phrase in that sentence is that I am helping you. Which is what you and I agreed I would do." He relaxed then, and added, "I am also interested in bringing the perpetrator to justice, should that become an option. And," he said, finally, "I believe your mother would have wanted me to help. She loved your father very much. They had been together since our 6th year."

Harry knew that his parents were sweethearts in school, but to hear it like this— he missed both of them more than ever right now.

"You knew my mum, too?"

"Your mother was a very talented witch, excellent at Charms and Potions. Very likely the most talented witch in a generation."

Harry glowed with pleasure. "I always thought so." His mother had been gone for more than 10 years now, and he still missed her. "Did you know her very well in school?"

"Yes, I—" Snape stopped, and closed his eyes for a moment. Harry waited. Snape finally closed his journal and looked up. "I knew her quite well. We were friends before we went to Hogwarts and remained close until her death."

Harry could only stare. "Why didn't I ever meet you when I was a kid?"

Snape leaned back in his chair. "Part of the reason was your father."

"He didn't like you?"

Snape smirked. "I didn't like him, either. Unfortunately, a more formative reason was a falling out your mother and I had during our school years." He held up a hand. "Before you ask, it was my doing."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Harry said quietly. This seemed a painful memory for Snape. It was also the most personal conversation he and Snape had ever had, and Harry didn't want it to end.

"Lily was a very kind and generous person. She forgave me eventually, but not until after you were born. There was a threat to you, and she and I worked together to keep you safe."

"You— you did?"

"Yes, and don't think you owe me anything for it. Your debt is long paid." With that, he stood up. "Enough of this maudlin reminiscing. If we are to revisit the scene of your near miss in Grampian tomorrow, we will need our rest."

While Harry agreed, he stayed where he was, lost in thought, long after Snape had retired.

* * *

Harry stumbled through the door after Snape, so very tired. They had Apparated north, beat their heads and bodies against layers on layers of charms and curses, and then Apparated hundreds of miles back again. No snow this time of year, but the chill wind had almost made up for it. The relief of finally reaching home and being safe was so overwhelming, he slumped to the floor just to the left of the door, head on his knees, unable to go any further.

He knew Snape was just as disappointed and exhausted as he was, and he admired his Master for staying upright as he absently watched his feet walking past.

"Who could build a thing like that?" Harry still couldn't quite believe the elaborate scheme they had found.

"Someone who wanted to protect something more than life itself. Perhaps..." Snape paused, sounding too tired to finish his thought.

"More than life?" It made no sense. But nothing did right now.

"Potter." The feet stopped in front of him and a hand reached out to help him stand. "Sleep. The morning is always brighter than the evening."

"Right," he muttered. Couldn't be darker, he thought, tumbling into his bed.

* * *

Harry wandered out to the kitchen the next morning to find a note from Snape saying he would return tomorrow. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but he wondered if Snape had learned more from their outing yesterday than he'd said. Still, Harry had plenty to do and kept himself busy all day.

As the next day wore on, however, he was more and more worried. Why hadn't Snape asked him to come along? Was whatever he was doing too dangerous for an apprentice? What if Snape was in trouble? Not that he could imagine Snape ever being outclassed, but still. He worried.

As the sun went down, Harry was getting desperate. He had to figure out where Snape had gone, but he had no idea where to start. Finally, gathering his courage, he opened the door to Snape's private rooms. There had to be something there, a scribbled note, an X on a map, something.

But Snape's rooms were frustratingly tidy. He wandered through them, hand trailing across an empty desk, along rows of books on orderly shelves. He opened a door to find an uncluttered bedroom, bed neatly made; a lavatory, similarly spick-and-span. He took another turn around the room, methodically opening drawers, pulling out books, looking for any clue. When he pulled back the draperies to check the window ledge, he was surprised to find a door instead of the window he knew should be there.

Without stopping to think, he opened it. He jumped back, his heart suddenly beating hard and fast.

There was a man hanging in Snape's cupboard!

"Hello," the man said.

"H— Hello," Harry replied, stunned. The man was an older gentleman, pleasant looking and comfortably dressed, but most oddly pinned to the wall.

"I wonder," the man said, amiably, "if I might trouble you for a glass of water. I am quite thirsty."

"Who— what— you're hanging in Snape's cupboard!"

"Yes, I do appear to be." He smiled. "I've been here for some time. I would very much like some water, if it's not too much trouble."

"Look, do you know where he is? Snape, I mean?"

"I may—" he said, then stopped to cough, politely turning his head slightly as he couldn't use his hands to cover his mouth. "A glass of water?"

Harry rushed to the lavatory and filled a small glass with water. He rushed back and held it gently to the man's lips. The man didn't seem to be concerned at all about his odd situation, but he was very thirsty and drank the water in a single gulp.

"Thank you, that was quite refreshing."

"Now, what about Snape? Do you know where he went?"

"Well, I'm not exactly certain—" He stopped to cough again. "Perhaps another sip of water?"

Harry filled another glass and the man drank it down.

"You are too kind. Now tell me your name, my son, so I can thank you properly."

"Harry, Harry Potter," he blurted out. "But what about Snape? What do you know about where he's gone?"

"Now, I can't tell these things to just anyone. I'm sure you understand." The man spoke slowly, as though he'd just taken a powerful calming draught. "Tell me, Harry. Why do you seek Master Snape?"

Because he could be dead was the first thing that popped into Harry's head, but he knew that wasn't the reason. If anyone could take care of himself, it was Snape. "I— well, I came to him for help when I was on the trail of the killers of my father." Which was true, although Harry had long since accepted that the trail was cold. Still, he'd stayed, and he'd barely admitted to himself why. "And I've remained as an apprentice to Master Snape."

"Snape's apprentice, how nice. Of course I can tell you." The man winked at him, smiling. "I believe he said—" The man stopped and cleared his throat. "Perhaps just one more swallow of water. I'm sure I'll be fine with just a bit more."

Harry filled the glass once more, thinking it would have been faster for the man to come down off the wall and get it himself, but if this got him the answers he wanted, he was happy to do it. As he gently tipped the cup to let the man drink the last of the water, however, he felt a great shudder of magic. The man began thrashing back and forth, and within a few seconds, he had knocked Harry back and burst from the cupboard. The glass thumped across the carpet.

The man was suddenly much taller and broader than he had seemed hanging on the wall. Harry staggered backward. "What— who—" He reached for his wand, only to have it snatched away.

"I am Lord Voldemort the Deathless!" the man shouted, knocking Harry to the floor and pointing his own wand at him. Harry's heart was in his throat! "Now you will sooner see your own ears than Severus Snape!" He Disapparated with a crack.

Harry pulled himself up to sit cross-legged in the middle of the room, his head still reeling.

Snape was absolutely going to kill him.

* * *

Harry woke several hours later with a start. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa after spending the previous night alternating between beating himself up and staring at the front door, dreading the moment Snape would return. Hoping he would. Hating himself. It had not been his best evening.

But then he had a strange dream, where he was talking to Snape and— he fumbled in the pocket of his jeans and found Kuki. He stared at the little doll. It couldn't be— could it?

He went into the kitchen and gave Kuki a bit of food. Just as he always had, Kuki's eyes began to shine and the little doll came to life.

"Kuki, I don't know what to do," he began.

"Tell me what troubles you," Kuki replied, and just like that, Harry could hear Snape in the little doll's voice.

"Master Snape?" he asked.

Harry had never seen the little doll roll its eyes, and he was surprised to see that it could. "Yes, Potter. It's me. Congratulations, you've figured it out."

Harry almost dropped him onto the floor. "It is you!"

"Yes, yes. Now, what is the trouble? I had thought these constant interruptions to my day were done with years ago."

These constant—? Harry wanted to ask all about that, but— "Did you know there was a man hanging in your cupboard?"

Kuki, or rather Snape, went still. "What have you done." His voice was deadly even.

"Er. I let him out?"

"You— let him out. Right. Tell me you're joking. No, you're not joking."

"No, sorry. And—" Harry sighed. "I sort of dropped my wand. He took it."

"And it only gets better. What in Merlin's name were you thinking, Potter?"

"I was trying to find you, you said you'd be back yesterday—"

"My delay is entirely beside the point. I was speaking of you letting that madman out of his trap. Your mother and I spent months setting up twelve levels of charms—"

"I realize that, I knew it as soon as—"

"As soon as he took your wand and escaped?"

"Yeah. Then."

Harry was very glad that Snape wasn't here at this very moment. Kuki's gaze was damning enough.

"I assume he was angry."

"A bit, yeah. Who is he, anyway?"

"A very powerful and power-hungry Dark wizard. It was a lucky guess that let us trap him twenty years ago. This time, I'm afraid we'll have to do it the hard way."

"How can I help?" Harry felt defenceless without his wand, miles away from Snape.

"Meet me at the usual spot."

The bog. Harry nodded, then he wondered if Snape could see him through Kuki's little doll eyes. "Okay, I could be there before sundown. But I'll need to get a new wand. I'll see if I can get to the Ministry, maybe Ron could take me to Diagon Alley—"

"No— there's no time." He paused for a moment, then said, "Go to the downstairs loo. There's a small compartment directly beneath and behind the mirror. You'll find a cloak hidden there, an invisibility cloak."

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "As soon as I have a wand, I can use a disillusionment charm. What good—"

"This cloak is different. Your mother gave it to me to help me to watch over you."

"But that's impossible, no cloak could last ten year—"

"Harry."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll see you in a few hours. Speak of this to no one."

* * *

The cloak turned out to be as promised, flowing like water and providing perfect invisibility, unlike anything he'd ever seen. Harry slipped easily into Diagon Alley behind a couple with three young children. After dropping a heavy bag of galleons at Ollivander's (ten and half inches, springy) and making a quick dodge back to Snape's house to shrink a few supplies, he was Apparating to the bogs.

As he travelled, Harry resisted the urge to think about any of this, focussing only on one task, then the next. Kuki stayed in his pocket, but Harry was preternaturally aware of him. He'd known Master Snape for the past year as a teacher, and that knowledge was now juxtaposed over Kuki, his little doll, the gift from his mother to help him after she had left him forever. Kuki, who had become his friend, who knew his fears and hopes, and—

He kept moving, trying harder not to think.

The sun was low in the sky when he finally reached his destination and saw Snape emerge from the misty trees.

"Potter."

Harry stared at him, seeing through new eyes. It was the same black hair, black eyes in a pale face— "I carried you in my pocket for years!"

Snape was indifferent to Harry's outrage. "I beg to differ, Mr Potter. You carried a charmed doll."

"That you answered every time I needed you!"

Snape's eyes flashed. "I had promised your mother I would."

Harry sat down hard on the nearest rock, suddenly overwhelmed by the force of his mother's love. And how much Snape had done for her.

"You— she—" He looked up. "She must not have thought much of my dad."

Snape's face softened. "It was not a lack of faith in his abilities. She feared he would be devastated by grief."

Harry nodded, remembering those first lonely years. "But what about you? Didn't you care?"

Snape sat down next to him on the rock and stared out into the mist. "More than I can ever say."

He loved her, Harry realized. And he had somehow been there for her son, sometimes a dozen times a day. Always there with to help with his homework, or just to listen to how Quidditch tryouts had gone. The times he'd been there just when Harry needed—

"Hey! You were there when I escaped from the Black Forest. That was you, on the broom!"

Snape laughed. "You told me later I was tall, dark, and handsome."

"Hey, you are tall, dark, and handsome!"

Snape looked at him with a mix of pity and derision.

Harry decided he knew when to quit. "Fine, I wasn't the brightest kid, you knew it then, you know it now. So tell me about the guy Voldemort that I accidently set free. I know it's going to be terrible news; I might as well know."

"Terrible is an appropriate word. Your mother died in an attempt to defeat him."

"What?!"

"Which is why we will not let him escape--" There was a crack of Apparition and Snape leapt to his feet.

Voldemort stood on the other side of the clearing, his wand pointed toward Snape.

"Severus, it's been so long," he drawled, obviously pleased with himself. Harry was all too aware it was his own wand dangling lazily from Voldemort's hand.

"How did he—" Harry wondered aloud, and then he realized— "You used me as bait!"

"I did no such thing," Snape said out of the corner of this mouth. "_I'm_ the bait."

Then with a flourish, Snape unfurled his wand and stepped forward, shouting, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Voldemort looked as though he'd been hit with a light breeze. He laughed, "Severus, I'm disappointed in you." He flicked his wand, and Snape began sliding toward him, silent and rigid.

Harry took a step forward to help, and then stopped when he realized that Snape's feet weren't moving. Voldemort was using a Stunning spell or a Summoning spell. Or both.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill him, Harry. I'm going to keep him in a beautiful cupboard I have picked out especially. Underneath the stairs, I think. Perhaps if he is very obedient and doesn't scream too loudly, I'll let him out to brew a potion, perhaps once a year. Or once every twenty years." Voldemort laughed then, a horrible, high-pitched laugh.

Harry clenched his jaw, using every muscle in his body to keep from running to his Master. Voldemort turned Snape to stand at his side, and Harry could only stare, utterly helpless, at Snape's wooden face. Then, in that split second when Snape's eyes met his, he heard _Accio your wand!_. It was Snape's voice in his head!

Harry spared a thought for this new aspect of Legilimency before he focused his magic on the wand clutched in Voldemort's hand. With a shot, the wand flew into his hand.

"Let go of him, you bastard!" But Harry hadn't needed to say it, because as soon as Voldemort was wandless, the spell holding Snape ended.

"As you wish," Voldemort said, stepping back. Harry kept his wand trained on him, several wordless curses rolling in the back of his mind. He glanced at Snape who had his hands on his knees, his chest heaving.

When he looked back, Voldemort had reached into his pocket. "I would have let you live, Harry. I did appreciate the water," he said, his voice fading as he Portkey'd away.

Harry hurried to Snape's side, helping him to sit down.

"What were you thinking? You wanted him to come after you?"

Snape pressed a hand to his chest and tried to stop wheezing. "That was the idea."

"But you used the Killing Curse, and he—" Harry was still shocked that Snape would use the curse, and more surprised that it had no effect.

"I'm aware of that. I had hoped that destroying the diadem would weaken him." Snape coughed, and Harry tightened his grip on Snape's waist to keep him upright.

Snape turned just then, and Harry became suddenly aware of just how closely they were pressed together. Heart beating far too fast, he raised a hand to Snape's face, cupping his cheek, just as Snape had done to him when he found him in the Black forest. "You're safe," he said, and Snape met his eyes.

Harry couldn't help but place a kiss on his cheek. When their eyes met again, Harry very deliberately placed a kiss on his lips. Pulling back slowly, he said, "Could you please not do that again? I like you safe."

Snape snorted, "We're hardly safe. We'll need a phalanx of Aurors when we go back to the house and gather our possessions." He slipped an arm around Harry's waist, and they sat in a comfortable embrace.

"You think I'm an idiot. For letting him out."

"I do not. I had not been renewing the charms as I should have done, and he is a very powerful Legilimens. You likely had no idea you were following his suggestions. And," he added, "that you even think so means I've been remiss in not informing you that you've completed your Apprenticeship."

"I have? Shouldn't there be, I don't know, a ceremony?"

"No. However, I will tell you that you did very well today. You're still getting your feet under you, but I have every confidence you will be a very powerful wizard. You have the physical grace your father had, and much of your mother's talent. They would both be proud."

"I— thanks," Harry said, finally. "So, why didn't you tell me to be an Auror, when I was dithering over what to do with my life?"

"You didn't ask."

"Oh." He turned to Snape, then. "I stopped talking to Kuki my sixth year, didn't I?"

"Why do you think I went to teach at Hogwarts during your seventh year— for my health?

"You missed me?"

"I missed you."

Harry was half joking, but Snape's answer was more than serious. Harry's heart skipped a beat, then he grinned. "Because I think you've discharged your duty to my mum. Not that I didn't appreciate it, but I'm of age now. I was of age three years ago. You didn't have to take me on as your apprentice."

"I am aware of that. However, I have had a stake in your survival for many years. When you came to me for help directly, how could I say no?"

"Are you always going to be this nice to me?"

"I can almost guarantee I will not."

"Good," Harry said, and cupped Snape's face one more time. This time, the kiss went on for some time, and was far more intimate than any kiss Harry had ever had. Snape's mouth was soft and knowing, and Harry surrendered to it, their bodies warming against the chill of the misty bog.

"So tell me," he asked, a little breathless, given what Snape's mouth was doing to his neck. "How much could Kuki see and hear in my bed?"

"It depended," Snape said, and Harry shivered feeling his voice vibrate against his skin. "It was difficult at times to get all the details when one was forgotten in a pocket for days on end."

"But sometimes you were on my pillow."

"Mmmm, yes, I was. Every time you— well, you made very adorable noises when that girl from— where was she from?"

"Durmstrang. Her name was Sveta. You heard that?"

"Oh, yes. And Mr Longbottom has some impressive," he paused to kiss Harry's mouth, "talents."

"You dirty little," he pulled away and stammered, "doll!"

Snape inspected his fingernails.

"That's it, I'm throwing Kuki into the bog."

Snape rolled his eyes, looking surprisingly like the doll as he did. "It's a family heirloom, Potter. I'll show you how to remove the charm, if you insist."

"Oh, I insist," he said, pulling Snape to his feet. "I definitely insist."

* * *

_"Aw, Gran, does there have to be kissing?"_

"Yes, dear, they kissed quite a bit, I think." She turned a page, and then another page, nodding."

"Well, as long as it's true love, I guess it's all right."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, you can keep reading."

* * *

_Days followed days, hours chased hours; a whole year went by. And with that, I've spared you a 47-page section on Death Eater politics. The "good parts" version really has a lot of advantages._

I remembered a lot about the story, but when I read the book later, there was a lot I'd forgotten. Either that, or there were whole sections that Gran changed all around or just made up. I remember there was a lot of chasing and killing and kidnapping and reuniting, and they had to find all of these cursed objects before they could kill Voldemort, and then get this extra-special wand from Baba Yaga— anyway, none of that was in the book at all.

And there was one part in particular that really made me wonder. The part where they figure out why that Voldemort guy couldn't die wasn't there. I mean, the crux of the story, the key to **everything**, just wasn't anywhere in the book. Even now, I can't remember the details. But what I do remember well is how Harry's mum and Snape worked together to figure out the secret.

* * *

"He'll have to eat something, eventually. And even the smallest sip of water will put him under the influence of the Veritaserum."

"But he hasn't had a drop since he arrived. It's been a week, Severus! He should be dead."

"Yes." Snape rubbed his chin. "And he clearly believes that won't happen. We'll need to strengthen the charms we're using to hold him."

"If he truly cannot die, I think we'll need to make them permanent."

"Are you mad? They'll have to be constantly refreshed. Where do you suggest we keep him, Lily? In your pantry, where your husband or your son will find him?"

"No, no, you're right, of course. Look, I'll get the key to the Potter vault. We'll need to buy a place. You can live there."

"Lily, no."

"Yes." Lily laid a hand on his arm. "Yes, it's fine."

"All right, we'll talk about it."

"Severus, what would I do without you?"

"You'd probably be a lot better off."

* * *

_As I tucked the book onto my shelf, I noticed a page tucked into the back cover. I wondered if it wasn't some bookmark she had used, but instead found it was a handwritten note addressed to Hermione— my Gran's name. I unfolded it carefully._

It was dated decades ago, when my Gran must have been a young woman. In a sloppy script, it read, "Great work! All those hours in the library were worth it." And then, "I'm sending you Kuki; thought you might like him as a keepsake. He has a much sweeter temperament than the real thing, but you know that." It was signed, "Harry".

I tucked it back into the book, a smile on my face.

I might not have any of Gran's magic, but that note was the next best thing.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks for critical beta reads from Venivincere, Rubyrosered, and Gnomad; any errors that remain are my own doing. Also thanks for language ideas from Vorickson and painless_J, and structural discussions with BethBethBeth, cmshaw, and LightGetsIn. Finally, none of this would be possible without semi-constant advice and encouragement from Fuschia, whose knowledge of Russian literature has always delighted me.


End file.
